Make War, It's Fun
by CampionSayn
Summary: Sometimes, to get a reaction out of someone, you need to not be afraid to make war.


Title: Make War, It's Fun.  
>Summary: Sometimes, to get a reaction out of someone, you need to not be afraid to make war.<br>Characters: Terry, Damian, small use of Bruce, Alfred (the little furball), Colin and Deidre. Mention of other members of the Bat clan.  
>Warnings: There is a connection to '<em>Twinning'<em>, but only just so. It's mostly connected to another great writer's work.  
>Disclaimer: I make no money off of this. I am only using these characters to service my own needs for a time…wait, that came out wrong…Oh, well.<br>Dedication: Written for **Rose Midnight Moonlight Black** for her work on '_Shopping Trip'_. I was so happy that I just had to do this in gratitude. Plus, it gives me the opportunity to brave my own personal doubts and introduce the brothers into a group setting…kinda. I'm still pathetically insecure about using anything that pops into my head when making a dedication, much less one published on the internet, but I'm getting better.

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><p>The few times that people have ever dared to throw something in Damian's face were either on the street, dorm mates in college, sort-of friends, or his immediate family. Such as wine in the face from the few females he dated to test his sexuality, a water balloon used in the mini-war that went down during pledge week—may the man who got away with it never see him again—without his knowing, thugs throwing something sharp or heavy at him to slow his descent onto them, and Irey, Lian, Jai—stuck up bastard—and of course his brothers, respectively.<p>

And no matter how old he got, Damian still had the same murderous look cross his features, teeth gnashing together as he tried to be the adult.

Now, dressed in his leather jacket he often wore out—not knowing there would be a freak blizzard so close to the Super Bowl, despite the fact that Gotham was rather a temperamental place—and a black and blue scarf that managed to wrap around him five times that Colin—somehow, but by God Damian had no idea how—forced onto him like the plague, Damian was finding it hard to be the adult. He was the adult in the situation, of course, but that look Terry gave him—grinning like an idiot in the same brown jacket he always wore, as well as a black scarf courtesy of Dana, juggling with the wet snow in one hand up and down—made him want to scream insults like he was ten again.

"What," Damian started, taking in a deep breath that caused his entire chest to expand, in effort to not scream, "Was that for, brat?"

Terry continued to grin, "I thought you said we were going to spar?"

"With katas, and form and purpose," the elder male ground out, eyes trained hatefully on the snowball still in McGinnis' hand, "Not something so…idiotic."

Bright blue eyes—brighter and cheerier and much more soul filled than Damian's—sparkled wickedly and before Damian could do much, the white ball was flung at the man's head. It would have hit, too, if her hadn't bent his knee. It only grazed his ear, but it was enough.

When he opened his mouth to yell something that would have still been mature, but threatening, Damian, unprepared, found another ball coming at him. This one he diverted with his gloved hand. It splintered and not only hit him in the face, but doused his coat and glove in freezing water.

"Screw it," Damian sneered, bending down and with lightning reflexes, picked up the snow, molded it and aimed at Terry…

Who was laughing uproariously and heading behind Damian's house.

"Coward!" The Wayne heir screamed, vaulting after the teen, completely ignoring Colin as his head poked out of the open window curiously at them, then shrugged and placed a steaming fresh and hot apple pie on the sill.

Damian rounded the corner of the house and just barely stepped out the way of the next ball heading his way, Terry awaiting his arrival with a fresh pile of snowballs similar to temple of some kind. The teen was positioned behind the wood pile Colin kept for their wood burning fireplace as well as their primitive stove—the perfect place for an attack.

"So, the lesson today would be not to take the teacher seriously when the student can hit him with snowballs?" Terry called out, ducking behind the wood at Damian's aimed weapon of frozen watery death.

Damian leaned to grab more so, eyes never leaving Terry as he rolled as many little balls—easier to toss, sometimes cause more discomfort on impact, as he'd been taught by Jason on some of their more friendly endeavors from childhood—as he could just beside him, "Don't piss me off, brat. Colin will have that stupid bird finished in an hour, your hench wench will have finished those potato things along with cleaning the rest of my house and by that time Father will come out to welcome the rest of the 'family', so this is really the most infantile thing we could be doing."

"Why use katas when we can burn off energy this way? Shouldn't this improve, I don't know," Terry shrugged, shifting up to toss another ball, this one missing by a mile and giving Damian a chance—which he used wisely—to hit the kid in the head, "Hand/eye co-ordination? Or catch and release? Or—"

Damian aimed and successfully hit Terry in the dead center of his forehead, causing the kid to trip on one of the discarded pieces of wood and land on his rear.

"Humility?" Damian added, doing that little juggling with one hand trick Terry had done just a few moments ago.

With a truthful, heartfelt beat of laughter, Terry did a back flip and landed atop the wood pile. Arms were bent in a fashion similar to when he wore the Batsuit, except in the place of Batarangs in her palms, there were balls of white, but the intent was the same. Hit the target in that same cavalier way that was always his own way. He gave Damian a chance to get into his own defense first, though—might as well make it fair.

Damian obliged, taking on a stance similar to offensive maneuvers in the League of Assassins—a form that after all these years he had yet to grow out of, far too comfortable within it—with a snowball held with the thumb on each hand, as well as within each palm using his other fingers.

The taller brunette made a head tilt and with the utterance of, "Well, come along, then," the game was on.

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><p>…<strong>Exactly one hour later…<strong>

Alfred, short, black furred Alfred with his little white spots here and there and the red rustic bell on his collar, used his head to open the flap in the back door or Damian's house.

The inside smelled wonderful, of course, but he was tired of his masters' parent's dog glaring threateningly at him from across the sofa as the old man was forced by Colin and Deidre alike to watch football, despite all of his grumbling (albeit a lot less threatening than usual). Besides, he hadn't been out all morning and he was curious as to what that constant thumping against the house was.

Stepping onto the back porch, lightly shivering at the cold, Alfred found the source of the noise.

Damian had, for the most part, worn Terry down and out, forcing him behind a pair of basically stuck together sycamore trees and without much snow to pick up. True, it had taken him five shots in the face with cold snow to get the teen into a tight spot, but he had succeeded. Victory could easily be won when one was patient.

The Wayne heir's cat looked on curiously as his master and the young man-that smelled an awful lot like the master-readied themselves to strike out against the other. Damian had two balls of white, and Terry only had one.

As if by a trigger, they came out from their hiding places, Damian from behind the pile of wood—where Alfred loved to find those disgusting rodents—and Terry out from the trees. Damian, despite himself, perhaps because of getting caught up in this strange sort of content that he hadn't felt since before he could drink, threw both of his balls, aiming at Terry's head, so he couldn't see, and his chest, so he'd land on his ass again.

The snowballs flew across the expanse of air needed to achieve their destination, seeming in slow motion. The little cat's eyes watched curiously as the white flew at Terry and the young man made a split-second choice. He took the one meant for his face with his hand, and the one meant for his chest with his shoulder, turning completely around and then back, a triumphant smile upon him.

While Damian was looking a little peeved, but completely willing to accept his loss, Terry took his ball and ran at the tall man.

Damian didn't even know what was happening when Terry did a set of flips and completely flew over him, landing behind him perfectly, ball still intact. That was, until Terry took hold of Damian's jacket.

"No—stop—no, you little—AH!"

Without hesitating, Terry shoved the ball of frozen water into the confines of Damian's jacket, enjoying the struggle from the Wayne heir so much that they both went down onto their sides and rear. Damian was spitting curses and wiggling his coat, trying to cease the cold, cold, cold feeling against his still fairly warm skin. Terry just lay down on the ground, laughing so hard the cold air kind of stung his lungs, but he didn't care.

Alfred lost interest in watching the humans and started to clean his front paws.

Behind the cat, the backdoor opened, and Deidre came out with Colin. Both were wearing Colin's aprons—the one on him blue and green checkered that hooked around his neck and tied up behind his back, and hers a pristine white, with the strings circling her waist to tie in her front—and came out to bring in their respective…well, Colin's respective boyfriend, Deidre's respective and self-proclaimed friend and caretaker, in to wash up.

The sight that greeted them was so unexpected that they just kind of stood there for a moment, looking slack-jawed and only came out of it when Alfred made little turns in the shape of an eight around their legs. His purring felt nice, preferable to shock and Deidre picked him up, the cat going limp as she tickled him behind the ears and under the jaw.

Colin shook his head and, leaning down to pick up some of the snow sitting innocently on the porch, balled up the snow into two small balls, tossed them and hit both brunettes on the head.

This got their attention and Damian stopped his bitching and Terry his laughter to look up at the ginger and blonde. The automatic blush that spread to both of their cheeks would have been worth a fortune to their family, but seeing as neither the girl or redhead had a camera, it let them off the hook.

"Never pegged you for the snowball war type, Dami," Deidre teased, Alfred's purrs growing more intense as she swathed her thumb over his right ear.

"What do you know," Colin added, opening the door for the blonde to step in and out of the cold, "Terry can do the impossible. Now come inside, heroes, and wash up. Your brothers will be here soon."

The door shut on the shared look of…something possibly friendly…crossing both the brunettes' faces as they looked at each other.

Well, before Damian grabbed one more bit of snow and stuffed it down Terry's shirt before hauling ass inside, laughing maniacally as Terry did the same useless dance with his upper torso as Damian himself.

Quite a fitting revenge.


End file.
